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Monday, June 6, 2011

Allison Tisdale

Dearest Diary,

I cannot remember the date. It's quite a shame. I've been napping on and off during my travels and sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night or early in the morning. I've really lost track of time. No one else traveling with me seems to know either. Sooner or later, I'll have to solve this mystery.

I'm laughing as I write this, The stage keeps throwing its passengers about, slamming them into the sides of the interior. I'm shoulder to shoulder this a heavy set man who tends to stare at the horizon constantly, I have no fear of him seeing my writing. But as I try to write, the stage throws my hand to the left or right so that my handwriting is illegible. I shall not be able to read this very well at at later date.

When we stopped for supper at a rather run-down hotel, I found myself sketching on the corner of a piece of paper. I was trying to imagine Samuel's face. Papa always said I have quite the imagination, whereas Brenton said I amazed him on a daily basis. I'm sure they didn't mean talent. I'm not sure that I'm quite so accurate at sketching people's faces, I believe they were primarily referring to the images that seem to haunt my head and then come out through my pencil.

But now that I look down upon my sketch, I wonder just how marvelous my imagination is. Samuel said his hair is black (or at least he hinted at it). I did not shade in his hair when I drew it, I left it pale, which is absurd. Samuel is not blonde. But looking at my sketch, wouldn't he be handsome if he was? With brilliant blue eyes! Our children would be blonde then, or have dark, gold-colored hair like mine.

Daydreams will get me nowhere. I cannot change who Samuel will be when I meet him.